


oh so many nights

by snsk



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Pining, empowering and independent, liam is yoda, playlists, single ladies oh oh oh, special guest appearance by beyonce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:32:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snsk/pseuds/snsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles is a strong independent woman who don't need no man. Louis Tomlinson ain't no man Harry Styles needs. So say Aretha Franklin and Alicia Keys and Beyonce, and god knows they basically run the world (girls). Except that, like, Aretha and Alicia and B haven't seen the way Louis wakes up in the morning, all soft tired eyes and creased skin and Harry-smile.</p><p>But, you know. Harry will survive.  </p>
            </blockquote>





	oh so many nights

Harry comes to the realisation when Niall's driving them to Walmart's at seven in the morning to get milk because they'd finished two cartons in a drinking competition before the rest of their bandmates had woken up and had breakfast. N Sync is on. They're singing along. Niall almost runs a cat over. Life is normal. Life is as good as life can be, for the moment.

Then I Don't Need A Man comes on, and life gets, like, a hundred times better, because Harry Styles has just had a sudden Amazing Epiphany.

"Niall," he says desperately, digging his nails into Niall's arm. Niall yelps and almost wraps them around a tree. Harry ignores this. "Turn it up."

"What?!" Niall shouts, because he can't hear Harry, seeing as the music is already busy ruining their ears for life. He turns the knob down.

"No, you arse," Harry tells him, and changes it to hearing-damaging volume again. Niall pulls into Walmart and looks for a parking space and finally manouveres the car badly in front of a couple of trash cans. Harry then proceeds to flaps his hands at him wildly to not switch the engine off as Nicole sings the last few empowering bars ("I don't need a man, oh!"). 

Harry turns the radio off himself, then, and stares at Niall with Epiphany Eyes. Which. Cool band name, bro.

"Niall," he says, very seriously. "Like, I  _know_ now."

"Harry," Niall says agreeably, just as gravely. "Know what, mate?"

Harry takes a deep breath. "I don't need a man to make me feel good," he says, "l get off doing my thing."

"You know the lyrics to the song now?" Niall asks. "Good for you, Haz."

He is totally spoiling this.

"You are totally spoiling this," Harry tells him. "I don't need him, is what I'm saying, alright? Him being a hypothetical male. Or female. The perks of being bisexual, Horan. I don't need a ring around my finger. To make me feel complete." 

Realisation dawns on Niall's face. "This is a Louis thing again, isn't it?"

"Not everything is a Louis thing, Niall, shut up," Harry says haughtily, pulling at the door handle and stalking out. "I just, this is a new phase in my life now. I'm strong and confident and independent. It's amazing."

"It's amazing," Niall agrees, shrugging, and they walk strongly and confidently across the Walmart parking lot in boxers, milk drying in their hair.

 

* * *

 

 

"Harold here has reached an epiphany," Niall calls out when they get back to the bus.

"Don't call him that," Louis says, frowning, peering at them from where he's sitting on the kitchen table in his sesame street pyjamas, legs swinging wildly and colliding with Zayn at intervals. Zayn's reading the paper and ignoring him. "Harold's my pet name. Get your own."

"Is that epiphany I'll not play 'who can finish up all the milk first so that the rest of my band can't have cereal' ever again?" Liam asks from the stove. 

"Close, but no cigar," Harry says, patting his bum as he walks by with the milk.

"Harry's decided he's a strong confident independent woman," Niall recites.

"Except for the woman part," Harry hisses.

"Extra dollops of the woman part," Niall adds.

Louis looks at him consideringly. His legs have stopped their manic kicking. "You've always been a fabulous black woman, Styles," he says. "Why the sudden decision to realise it?"

"I just wanted to, god," Harry says, pouring pepper into Liam's eggs. "The Pussycat Dolls were on." Louis nods like this makes oodles of sense.

"So what does this transformation entail, exactly?" Zayn asks.

"Nothing really," Niall explains. "He just don't need no man. Or woman. Perks. And stuff."

"Huh," says Louis. Harry chances a glance at him, he's grinning straight at Harry. "You never did, Harold, silly."

Harry smiles back. He's always liked Louis best. That's always been the problem.

 

* * *

 

Tuesday passes and Harry spends it making an Empowerment Playlist on his iPod while Louis and Zayn play FIFA. He splays out on the unoccupied couch, leg hooked over the back of it, and Loki comes to sit on his stomach. Harry huffs, breath sucked out of him due to several pounds of dog making his chest and stomach his home.

"Might wanna lay off on the steaks," Harry says confidentially. "A second on the lips, a lifetime on the hips, Loki, babe."

He finishes adding Beyonce's Run The World (Girls) to his playlist and looks at it in satisfaction. Perfect. He's empowered and all that shiz, and he's got a playlist to prove it. He scrolls down his other playlists, and quite determinedly doesn't look at the one that's labelled 'Obscure Indie Bands Which Make Annoyingly Hipster Music'. But he doesn't delete it either. 

He really should. It should probably be an important step in his empowerment plan. 

"So I'm not quite there yet. So sue me," he tells Loki defensively. Loki laps at his face. Harry takes it as encouragement.  

"I gotta tell you something, Lo," he says, into Loki's fur. "The Obscure Indie Bands Which Make Annoyingly Hipster Music playlist? It doesn't really consist of obscure indie bands which make annoyingly hipster music. It, it's kind of - it's kind of a Music That Reminds Me Of-"

He's interrupted by a heartbroken moan from the direction of the other sofa. Harry doesn't need to look up to know who it is.

"Harry," the voice moans, and a heavier, familiar weight drapes itself over Harry's legs. "Harry, Zayn is mortal enemy number one. A bounty on his head! A curse on all his future quiffs!"

Harry would pat Louis consolingly but he's busy slowly being crushed by everyone, so.

"How much?" he asks instead.

"56 - 8," Zayn replies smugly. "Owned."

"Wet pitch," Louis snaps. "Tricky conditions."

Harry huffs out a laugh. It's harder because Loki's settling in to sleep.

"Better luck next time, Lou," he says, over the fur on Loki's neck.

"You bet your pretty arse there'll be," Louis says. He slides off Harry's legs and pads on his hands and knees (e m p o w e r e d Harry doesn't give a hot damn about this) to where Harry's face is. Harry turns to look at him.

"Whatcha doin', Curly?" Louis asks, all up in his space.

"Playlist," Harry says. Louis reaches out and steals his iPod away from him, easy. It's why Harry lives in fear that he will one day accidentally open the playlist called Obscure Indie Bands Which Make Annoyingly Hipster Music. It's why Harry named it Obscure Indie Bands Which Make Annoyingly Hipster Music, so Louis will continue to roll his eyes at Harry's annoying hipsterness and not touch it with a ten foot pole. 

It's working so far. Which is good.

Louis is currently scrolling down the Empowerment playlist, brow furrowed in thought. If Harry didn't need a man to make it happen, he'd probably want to kiss that little crease away, want to press his lips down a sharply defined cheekbone and peck at the side of that nose just to make Louis laugh.

But he doesn't. So he simply waits.

Louis pronounces, finally: "Man! I Feel Like A Woman."   

"Shania," Harry says. "I can't believe I forgot Shania."

"Where would you be without me?" Louis asks. He's eye-level with Harry. He's smirking, isn't asking it as a serious question. His blue eyes are crinkled and his teeth are a sharp small display of white. He has a day off tomorrow and he's spending it with Eleanor. 

Where would Harry be without Louis?   
   
Harry takes the iPod back and thumbs through his songs. He pretends that the pressure he feels in his chest is a result of Loki's snoring, dead weight. 

"Much less likely to end up in a mental institution due to a nervous breakdown by the time I'm twenty-five, that's where," he returns, all snark. Louis twists away and moans that nobody loves him, god, the pain. 

 

* * *

      
It's three in the afternoon on a Wednesday. Harry has stuff he's got to do. He's, like, an international fucking popstar and that comes with, like, responsibilities and a nonstop schedule and shit. He shouldn't have time for nothing.

And usually he doesn't. Except on this particular three o'clock on a Wednesday, he's sitting around doing absolutely nothing, when he wants to, you know, create another album and adopt a kid from Africa and meet three quarters of his fans and, well, anything apart from sitting aroud and mopi- 

He's not bloody moping, he's Harry Styles, goddamnit. 

He grabs his phone. Five, six rings.

"I take it Louis' off to Manchester," Nick says on the seventh ring, all lazy drawl. "I take it you want to come over or go out on the town and get so fucking plastered you can't remember your own name, much less that you've got a fanbase made up of mostly twelve year olds who look to you as their guiding glowing beacon of light." 

"I could have been dying," Harry informs Nick. "This could've been my last goodbye, and you lead with 'you're a horrible role model?'"

Nick makes a scoffing sound. "You're not dying, Styles," he tells him. "You're just buying. Tonight."

"Why-"

"'cause I have a breakfast show, and this is my  _sleepytime_ ," Nick says, "and I'm blowing that off to go be a goddamn amazing friend to a closeted teenage boybander moping over his crush."

"For starters, I'm not moping," Harry starts, but Nick's hung up.

 

* * *

 

It's six thirty on a Wednesday evening, and Harry Styles is well on his way to drunken oblivion.

Well. He thinks he might've crossed the drunken oblivion border a few minutes ago, about the time of the seventh vodka shot. Time is a hazy blur. Nick feels nice and warm and most importantly, solid next to him.

"Nick," he says. He's usually a happy drunk. "Nick, love you." He reaches out to hug Nick, ends up getting his leg, which. Close enough.

"Not s'much s'you love your gorgeous unattainable bandmate," Nick says, because Nick _is_ a goddamn amazing friend most times but he can also be mean, drunk.

Harry stares at the wall of the bar opposite them. There's a swirly colourful picture of a ship, or maybe it's just Harry's brain. Maybe seven vodka shots ago it was a black and white photograph of a raft, all along.

"'s true," Harry says. "It - it hurts, h'much I love him, y'know? 's been three fuckin' years and nothing's changed fr'm when we decided it was better not to do this. Nothing's changed from when he firs' said hi to me in a bloody bathroom."

Usually. Harry's usually a happy drunk.

There's an exhalation of air next to him, and oh, hey, those are Nick's arms. It's nice. Nick wrapping him up in a hug that reeks of apology but not-quite, Nick doesn't do apologies.

"You're so young," Nick says into Harry's shoulder in a sort of wonder. "You're so bloody young, Harry Styles."

"Am not," says Harry, but Nick shakes his head against Harry's shirt and says, "Karaoke. _Yes_ ," like he's just had the most brilliant idea ever. 

He really has had, though.

 

* * *

 

Management isn't happy. Management is never happy, though. They pull up the gone-viral video of Harry slurring his way through I'm A Survivor, hanging onto Nick for support as the crowd at the pub cheers wildly, and complain about image and media and lying low for a bit. 

Harry nods, docile. Louis has been quiet next to him throughout management's rant, but he says, now, indignant: "Let him have a couple of nights wasted, jesus. He's nineteen."

"Leave it," Harry says. Louis looks at him questioningly. He leaves it. 

 

* * *

 

So- the whole empowerment thing is going well. It's pretty awesome. Except for a few setbacks, but doesn't one expect a few of those on one's journey to self-discovery and independence? 

Harry clambers into the tourbus one fine morning after a coffee run and is faced with one particular insistent setback, wearing Liam's Worried Eyebrows, Zayn's Forced Into It, Buddy head tilt, Niall's Apologetic lip worrying and Louis' Not Looking At Him _thing_ he's got. 

"This is an intervention," Liam announces.

"It's a crap one," Harry decides. "There's not even a banner or anything."

"I told you," Louis says. He shrugs at Harry, who quite determinedly ignores him. The cahooting double crosser.

"Shut up, Louis," Liam says. "Harry. We understand your desire to be more assertive and independent and fully support your desire to find yourself. But, Harry, there are better ways. I'm going to start with the constant singing of angry sweary country songs. In the shower. All throughout your shower. Do you know how long your showers are. I timed one, the other day. Forty-two minutes of Tori Amos on repeat, two times a day, three if you're in the mood. At least before when it was hipster songs nobody knew the name to it was less angry, you know? Harry, mate, I love you, but." Liam shrugs. "Maybe tone it down, a little. More The Seeds and their mournful mumbling, less anger and pain and scratching carseats with keys. Zayn."

"You keep calling me qurl," Zayn informs Harry. "Don't keep calling me qurl and bish and sista and snapping your fingers in a z formation at me and speaking in a ghetto tone of voice, you aren't from da hood."

"Neither are you," Harry points out. "You still attempt your wannabe gangsta vibe."

"I," Zayn says, haughtily, "pull it off." He settles onto the sofa, obviously done with everything.

"I woke out of bed on Monday," Niall continues, "barge into Haz's room for toothpaste and guess who I see on webcam? Beyonce! Beyonce offering him life advice on how to be fabulous and shit! Beyonce saw me in boxers and unbrushed teeth and uncool hair! This has to stop, I can never face her again!" 

There's a little pause as everybody tries to figure out the point Niall was making exactly.

"Anyway," Liam says. "Louis."

Louis shuffles a bit, looks at the side of his sneaker. "Aw, Haz," he says. "Just, I don't know, go back to being you? I miss you, I get, like, this is an awesome phase, I just miss the you who doesn't quote Gwen Stefani at me when I ask you to get me tea. Why don't we go out tonight, maybe you just need to get laid, yeah you so need to get laid, I'll totally be your wingman."

He quirks the side of his mouth at Harry, and Harry can see the anxiety in his expression, the hidden worry in his eyes, because Harry knows Louis, but Harry is also done. 

"No, I don't need to _get laid_ ," he says, scathing. There's anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach, making it hard to breathe. "I tried getting laid, it didn't solve anything, I tried it again and fucking again, nope, so I thought I'd try something new. And now, for once, I-"

He's dangerously close to saying things he would rather not, not here, not now, probably not ever, so he stalks away, to his bunk. He lets the door slam shut.

He can still hear, faint, because his room's right next door, god, Louis saying softly: "I didn't know there was anything to solve."

He hears Niall reply: "That's 'cause you're an idiot, Tommo."

Harry rummages for his earphones, tangled up in his nest of blankets, and sticks them in. Kelly Clarkson comes on, singing all shouty and satisfying about being fine on her own.

He's started to feel better when there's a knock on the door. Liam enters before Harry can say anything. As a band they've never been very good at things like personal space and privacy, it's always been a problem. It's probably ruined them for all other bands.

Liam's got his Worried Eyebrows still on. He sits on the foot of Harry's bed and wraps warm fingers around Harry's ankle. Harry sighs and takes one earbud out.  

"I didn't know it was still so bad," Liam says, low. "I'm sorry."

"It's not," Harry says. At Liam's disbelieving look, he amends, "-well. It's getting better." 

"Maybe we just need some time," Liam says, "like, the three week long break coming up. You're spending some time with your family, right?"

"Uh-huh."

He misses his mom suddenly, a sharp ache beneath his collarbone.

"You'll be okay, Haz," Liam says, gentle, and, because he thinks he's a wise old owl or shit, adds, "This too shall pass."

Harry nods, like Liam wants him to, because he loves Liam.

 

* * *

 

Liam was right, though: being home helps. Harry hadn't known how much he missed his mom and Gemma until he's here, helping with the kitchen, interrupting Gemma when she's on the phone with her _boyfriend_. It's home and it's warm and it's so familiar. His mom drops a kiss on his forehead and tells him he's too skinny, does he _need_ her to tag along on tour and make sure he eats three square meals a day? Gemma snickers. Harry elbows her. She's still tougher and stronger than him- how is that possible, he's like half a head taller now- so he promptly loses the scuffle that follows. 

It's been about three days when he receives the first text.

 _my family like u better than me_ , it reads. _fel just asked me why im here and ur not wtf_

Harry hesitates, then types, _they want the c i got the c. and by the c i mean the curls_

 _idk why you even try, styles_ , is Louis' reply. Harry can see him grinning, all the way in Doncaster. Maybe lying on his stomach on his childhood bed, sharp jaw in left hand, the one with the Muppets sheets. Maybe with one leg dangling over the edge, toes not quite touching the floor. _hows home?_

 _rly good_ , Harry types back. _like. my mom's going to feed you guys' innards to dusty bc not enough meat on my bones, but othern that srlygood_

 _im glad_ , is Louis reply. _and dont talk rubbish Harold ur mom loves me_

_i can feel you working out the most sucky uppy apolgy ever_

_thats not even a word harold i cant help it if ur mom gives me an extra cookie when we leave_

The thing is. Harry's never been able to function well without Louis. He supposes he had to, once, before that first infamous destined meeting in an xfactor toilet, before Louis settled himself inside Harry's veins and carved out a place for himself into Harry's bones, but somewhere along the line, he'd decided, never again. And even if this is all he gets he'll take it. He'll take it because Louis controls his medulla oblongata and without him the world is a darker shade of sepia.

So Harry texts back, _filthy liar i saw you stealing it from the jar_

And fuck empowerment - he should've joined a twelve step program.

 

They text throughout Thursday and Friday, inside jokes and snark and HarryandLouis, so simple that Harry can pretend he's seventeen again and has just left Louis for the first time. Friday dinner his mom asks him to put his phone away, it's dinner, hottest hair of 2012 or not she'll still happily ground him.

"Who is it?" she asks, ladling out soup.

"Lou," Harry says absently, finishing off a text. He glances up when he's done and thinks he sees a bit of sadness in her expression, but she only says: "'Course," and gives Harry the drumstick, which Gemma complains long and heartily about.

When they're washing dishes, she says: "You're okay, aren't you, Harry?"

She knows he isn't quite, she's his mom and she knows when his temperature goes up, like, point two degrees- but Harry lies and smiles and nods anyway.

"Because," she says, "you need to look after yourself, too. You're important, Harry. You need to remember you come first too, sometimes." 

Harry looks at her, loves her so much it's ridiculous, from her soft brown hair right down to the spatula she's scrubbing.

 

* * *

 

Louis calls that night.

"Did I pack Delilah?" he asks when Harry picks up, no introduction. 

Delilah is the 'His' bear they'd gotten two years ago, back when it was still okay to be in love and act it in the eyes of the public. Louis doesn't sleep without it usually, only when he and Harry are apart. Harry knows this. Harry doesn't know how he knows this. Harry knows Louis.

"I can't find her," Louis says sadly. "I put her in, I swear." 

"That's what she said," Harry says automatically. He looks up at the ceiling. "You lost Del?" he enquires.

"Don't do that, Styles, you're making me feel a lot more horrible than I already feel, I _already_ feel like I murdered a saint."

"Try wrapped in your towel, backpack's second side compartment," Harry recites.

There's a rustling at the other end of the line. Harry waits.

"God, I love you, Harold," Louis says, delightedly. There's a muffled sound which means he's planting wet kisses all over Delilah. "I really have missed you, though," he adds, and he says it lightly but Harry? Harry knows Louis, an he can hear the sincerity sheltering behind the tone of voice. "I don't know whether it was the bad jokes or the shampoo stealing, but I have."

Harry closes his eyes. "I never stopped," he says, and then, in a rush: "Louis, I never stopped, and it's not going to get better any time soon. I'm not expecting anything. It's just the reason why I get mad, sometimes, and I push you away. It's not your fault. I need time, and space, and. It'll pass. Liam said so. Liam's always right."

There's a silence. Harry's heart is quite possibly disintegrating slowly inside his chest.

"Liam knew about this?" Louis asks, sharp and sudden.

"Yes?" says Harry. "But, like, that's not important, what is, is time, that and space. I'll talk to you soon, Louis." 

He puts the phone down, not waiting to hear Louis' reply. He switches it off. 

On the third day without his own phone the house phone rings. 

"Hi, Zayn," Harry's mom says. "Yes, he's here." _Zayn_ , she mouths, like Harry is eleven again and a friend she really likes is on the phone.

"Are you okay?" Zayn asks.  

"I'm fine," Harry says. "What, did he tell you about what I said?"

"He told me you switched off your phone," Zayn says. 

"I did."

"I think he's figuring some things out," Zayn says slowly.

"There's nothing to figure out," Harry tells him. Zayn makes a little humming noise which means he doesn't quite agree but he won't push it.

"How's Perrie?" Harry asks.

"An absolute bitch," Zayn says happily, all smitten.

"Tell her I say hi."

"Take care of yourself, Harry," Zayn orders him. "It'll all come out in the wash. You just gotta let things run their course."

"Since when do you talk like that?" Harry enquires. "Like you're a wise old sage offering relationship advice for a dollar."

"I try to help," Zayn sighs, "and all I get is snark from inconsiderate youths."

 

* * *

 

 

The last two weeks of Cheshire are placid and pleasant and familiar and just really, really nice. Harry fills his days with football and food and people he hasn't seen for too long and watching reruns of FRIENDS and Torchwood with Gemma. Either he falls into bed, exhausted, or he falls asleep on the sofa in front of the tv. Either way, he doesn't think about - other things too much. And it's nice. It's probably what Liam meant. A few fans pop up here and there, but they respect his privacy on the whole, and Harry appeciates that.  

Cheshire is nice, the problem is he's currently in the middle of a worldwide tour with an empowerment crisis and a best friend he's trying desperately to fall out of love with.

It's not a big deal. He reminds himself of this when he's packing his bags and kissing his mom and Gemma goodbye. It's not as if he hasn't been blatantly obvious about his feelings already, so on some subconscious level, Louis must have had already known, right? He levels his suitcase onto the roller thingy at the train station, and tries not to have a panic attack on the train. At least now it's out in the open and Louis knows he's trying to deal with it. Which, like - he'll succeed. He's Harry Styles. It's HarryandLouis. It'll be okay.

The train pulls up at the station several hours later, and Harry hyperventilates a bit, anyway.

He goes through and spots Niall and Liam immediately through a sea of pink, ultra bright balloons and trailing ribbons and a bouquet of roses and a banner which says, Welcome Home Haz like he hasn't just left for three weeks. It's not even the best thing they've done to welcome each other back at airports, and, yep - definitely ruined for other bands, but Harry's smiling so hard it hurts. 

"Babe!" Niall shrieks, and jumps into his arms, nearly knocking him to the floor. The people around them look benovelent and nostalgic at this expression of young love.

"Zayn and Lou're representing us at an interview," Liam says, which - which is fine. And then Liam rushes at him and _does_ knock him down, embracing him all the way to the shiny linoleum of the airport, which - the casual observers' eyebrows are raised a little at this.

 

* * *

 

 

Liam says in the car, offhand, "You do know about Louis and Eleanor, right?"

Something in Harry's chest constricts painfully. He knows Louis. Louis wouldn't get engaged two weeks after Harry confessed his stupid still-crush on him. He thought he knew Louis. "No, I haven't been connected," he says, and feels sick. "What happened?"  

"I said take time off, I didn't mean in the middle ages," Liam says. Which. Is now really the time to grow a sense of humour, Liam?

"They broke up," Niall says, and - what.

"What?" Harry asks. "Why?"

"You do know they were a mostly for-show couple in the first place, don't you," Niall says, soft.

Harry - Harry had known that. Harry had known that they'd started going out mostly to quell the insistent rumours that weren't really rumours if they were true. But then they'd decided, without acknowledging it out loud, to stop this - whatever between them, for the sake of the band, because the band might actually be going places, and Harry wasn't going to be the one who ruined it for them all, and Louis had kept on going out with Eleanor, and they'd never acknowledged that out loud, either, and so it had gone, and.   

The car pulls up at the tourbus. Harry walks out in a daze.

 

* * *

 

 

Three hours later, Louis and Zayn return, banging the door behind them and arguing loudly over who would top, the Muffin Man or Kermit the Frog. They see Harry and Zayn swats him on the shoulder and pulls him into a hug, which smells of coffee and vaguely like the roughness of cigarette smoke. He must've been up early this morning, because he retreats straight to his bunk after telling Harry that he's eaten up all of Harry's secret Oreo stash in the back of the second cupboard.

Louis stands awkwardly in front of him, crease indented on brow. Niall and Liam have cleared off. Harry doesn't remember seeing them go.

"Hi," Louis says, and Harry's fingers go unconsciously, out of habit, to swipe gently at his arm, where the tattoo is inked. Louis' eyes track the motion.

"Hey," Harry says.

"Did you hear?" Louis asks. "About - about El."

"Explain that to me," Harry demands, "tell me what you meant by that, tell me what you mean. Don't mess with my head, I was doing fine -"

"- you were singing Celine Dion in the shower and karaoking Destiny's Child and Beyonce had to give you life advice-"

Harry glares.

"Alright," Louis acquisces, because Harry knows Louis, and Louis can talk for hours and hours about absolutely nothing, can hold entire conversations with himself over the terrible state of tv programming these days, but give him an essay assignment entitled My Feelings and he'd probably write about his youngest sister's first tooth extraction. "Alright." He exhales, doesn't look at Harry. He draws aimless circles on the grey granite tabletop with the pads of his fingers.

"It was easy being with El. She's awesome, and it got management off my back, and I didn't want to ruin - all this," and he waves an arm, probably indicating Niall, Zayn and Liam, "and we were so young, and after that, after that, like, unspoken decision to not go on, you were living life. You were - are a ridiculously shameless flirt, and you looked totally done with it, and I thought, okay, and continued dating El, and I wanted to love her so much-" he says it shameful, drags his thumb against the edge of the granite, "but - it was you, I pretended it wasn't, I got really good at pretending, I pretended so hard I believed it, sometimes, and you'd come up with something like lift a little girl onto your shoulders or wake up and reach for me and I'd remember all over again."

He looks at Harry then, finally, raw. Sunlight streaming from the window curves golden over his cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw.

Harry says: "What do you mean I was totally done with this? Jesus, I tried, but I never stopped looking at you like you hung the moon and the stars."  
   
Louis huffs out short laughter. "Guess I missed that. Guess I was too busy pretending to notice."

And here they are, at a stalemate all over again.

"This could still ruin - this," Harry says, mimicking Louis' encompassing arm wave. But he can hear his mom in his head. This is important. This should come first, for once.

Louis says: "I've been thinking, and talking to Liam - guy's like Confucius these days - and he seems to have gotten the idea that he'll have our backs, they'll all have our backs, whatever happens. And he cuffed me around the head and told me that 'whatever happens' entailed not screwing this up again."

He's arm's length now. Harry can see the bruised shadows under his eyes. 

"And as for the thinking," Louis continues, "if love is what's going to ruin this band, I think it would've fallen apart already due to my hopeless unrequited longing."  

He looks tired and wan and like everything Harry's waited and wanted for so, so long. Harry doesn't say anything, just tilts his head down a bit to look at Louis.

"Harry Styles," Louis says, "whilst thou bequeath me the great honour of being oneth directioneth's Yoko Ono?"

"You're totally Yoko," Harry murmurs, and Louis winds an arm around his neck and pulls him down for a kiss.

They kiss for a bit, soft and tentative, relearning the way that fit against and into each other - and it shouldn't be so easy, it shouldn't feel so much like finally, finally coming home - and then Louis licks his way into Harry's mouth, quick and dirty, and Harry lets out this extremely embarrassing whine at the back of his throat. He can feel Louis smile against his lips.

Harry pulls back. Louis' lips are pink and flushed and his hair is mussed from where Harry'd been staking his claim on it and he's beautiful. His eyes follow Harry's enquiringly.

Harry says, serious: "How come every time you come around, my London, London bridge wanna go down, like."

It's supposed to be a joke but ends up sounding like a declaration.

And- and maybe Harry knows Louis, but Louis knows Harry, too, because he smiles up at him, sweet, like he undestands everything Harry's trying to say, fondness in his eyes making Harry's stomach flutter just a tiny bit and says, considering, "You're something else, you know that, Harold?"

"I am," Harry agrees, and tilts his head down to kiss Louis some more. And maybe later, he will rename 'Obscure Indie Bands Which Make Annoyingly Hipster Music'. He'll rename it honestly, to what the playlist is really about; he'll name it, quite simply, 'Louis'.

 

* * *

 

**epilogue:**

  
"So young Harry over here has been working on empowerment, and he's got a little number to prove it!" Liam announces, and the crowd goes wild as the opening notes of Single Ladies drum through the arena.

Niall and Zayn and Liam and Louis join in, but it's Harry who knows the moves better than the back of his own hand, okay, and the crowd screams their approval and management's probably going to give him shit about dancing in tight leather tomorrow but now, _now_ he's got Louis next to him, on the verge of collapsing with laughter as he shakes his arse and twirls an arm, and he looks at Harry and winks, a promise of lewd things he's going to do to him tonight, probably with the leather still on. Niall is shaking and given up to hysterics on his right, Liam and Zayn have veered slightly off course and are doing a dance Harry's pretty sure Beyonce or her choreographer or God never intended and the stage lights are warm on his face and now? Now is good.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> ok guys first up if you read this confused fic thru to the end thank you omg i didn't do much research or britpicking or proofreading apart from a google search or two i dont know much about tourbuses either so feel free to correct anything so like if this whole thing sucked you can tell me there x
> 
> it's pretty obvious i don't own louis or harry (they own each other) or anyone else & this is all complete fictitiousness, any and all comments are beloved
> 
> (one more thing here are some of the songs on Harry's Music that Remind Him Of Louis playlist - obvsly all in my head, but i like to think real life Harry has one for real life Louis too, and he listens to it sometimes on sunday nights when he can't sleep on the tourbus and Louis is a couple of metres but five hundred miles away from him at the same time:
> 
> 1\. how to save a life - the fray  
> 2\. ache for you - ben lee  
> 3\. the scientist - coldplay   
> 4\. chasing cars - snow patrol  
> 5\. i love your smile - charlie winstock )


End file.
